Rationalized Semantics
by JASmith
Summary: The year is lost to the Immaterium and imperial records do no justice to this tale (though they are no less intriguing) and are broken, seemingly unrelated, fragments of unusual circumstances. Thus follows the near folly of the Gods, the trick of an Ethereal Jester, and the legend of the Blind Maker.
1. Chapter 1

The year is lost to the Immaterium and imperial records do no justice to this tale (though they are no less intriguing) and are broken, seemingly unrelated, fragments of unusual circumstances. Thus follows the near folly of the Gods, the trick of an Ethereal Jester, and the legend of the Blind Maker.

His profile description in imperial records was unremarkable and average. His name is and was James R. Hartwright (our hero) as his father named him. He was in his mid twenties and worked in a Manufactorum at the time of his disappearance. He was an inquisitive and curious boy and, as a man, dull and uninteresting. Dull not in mind, but of personality. The kid was smart, he just didn't talk much. He never had any hobbies. He made very few friends. He had no motivation (though, in his defense, he didn't really have much need of any). The only new things James tried were ways to lose himself in thought. This later manifested in the use of narcotics.

His only observable redeeming qualities were his fondness of systems and rules, his ability to manipulate those systems to an objectively higher level (not that he had much of a chance to practice such skills in his early years), and his ability to adapt his rationalizations to better accomplish the tasks assigned to him. His peers never thought much of him and his superiors never acknowledged his existence. He learned to keep his mouth shut most of the time around his higher ups: his ideas never held personal sway with them and he could care less about chasing their approval. He settled with their indifference just as well.

His mother was not so blessed as to have glimpsed him before her passing on the table that bore him, though she was never much deserving of a blessing to begin with. She was an inheritor of a very small fortune for which she was loathe not to spend how she pleased and only on herself. There wasn't much else kind to be said about her.

Our hero's father, on the other hand, was a lightly decorated man, and a good enough one keep himself preoccupied most of the time. Though thoroughly busy and exhausted for the majority of his time spent in this realm, he did have time to impart upon his son pearls of wisdom from time to time.

They were the old parent tapes: "Stay the path of The Emperor, all others are destruction", and "Keep yourself clean, when you have time", and "When you work, work hard. It'll keep you alive and, one day, you might be recognized", and of course "Shut up, no one wants to hear it".

When James was old enough to appreciate the efforts of his father to keep him alive and educated, the old man died in a slaughter by the hands of particularly uninteresting Ork on a particularly uninteresting wasteland of a planet for no particularly interesting enough reason. James did not need a believable enough explanation to accept his father's death, he never thought twice about the story he had been told about a workplace accident.

Matron, Patron, and introduction out of the way, this story now shifts to a Gornd, Lowly Pawn of Tzeench.

The Great Puppet Master had been plotting an entertaining trial to cast upon our unwitting psyker hero, and had tasked this would-be narcotics dealer to confront James. The Puppeteer had been providing protection to James by masking his presence and preventing him from being torn apart by deamons from the time James was conceived. The plan was rather simple (as unfitting as it was for the tentacle tangle fiend to have things any other way but twisted and convoluted): plant a powerful neurotoxin designed to unlock dormant psychic powers that he'd "acquired" from one of Nurgle's many "garden" worlds into a drug that James had planned on purchasing from the nefarious and shady individual. Gornd's superiors had solid imperial documentation stating that James kept himself clean and that this would be his first attempt a purchase of any sort of illicit substance. After James had consumed the drugs, his dealer would confront him in the guise of his Master, reveal to him that he was a powerful psyker predestined for some grandiose and pretentious purpose, and convince him to join the shiny chess piece collection club. In theory, in his drug induced state, James would be less likely to resist the efforts made against him and would be fairly accepting of the offer laid before him.

He was also to provide James with the paraphernalia to use the substance effectively. It was a two part ensemble: a small ten centimeter long glass trinket with no distinguishable markings and a classic fire starter. This was understandable, as the target needed all the tools required to fulfill his role in his own subversion and eventual damnation.

There was one part of the plan Gornd did not understand and that was not part of the briefing. It was what looked like a tangle of wire and plasteel attached to a solid glass-metal ingot. It was ugly and ancient looking, though intriguing all the same. When he asked what purpose the messy artifact served, he got a shrug and was instructed to present it to the target along with the poison. Evidently, none of his superiors knew the purpose of such ancient technology. This lack of understanding for this odd trinket from his superiors did not exactly give Gornd a sense of confidence but their thorough understanding of all other aspects of the plan did.

The plan was simple because it was remarkably dangerous. Infiltration into a hive city, no matter how lax the security, how sparse the patrol, could still attract unwanted attention. He was a heretic and was not welcome here. Imperial dogs look for reasons to start witch hunts. Gornd sought the golden carrot dangling above him and knew the reward far outweighed the risks. His life over the promise of unlimited knowledge and potential immortality was less a gamble and more a bargain to him.

Thus, he needed to be a good little pawn and play his part. The part was a narcotics dealer waiting for a client and the stage was a grungy and crowded alleyway half past twilight. His client would come. It had been arranged.

The sky was drearily depressing and heavily overcast. The lighting fixtures were pale-yellow, sub-optimal, and non-conducive to a positive and mentally healthy atmosphere. The stench of ash and stale water bespoke of a road too often traversed but less than never appreciated. This was the sort of thing that bothered Gornd. Corpse lovers were stupid sheep-rabbits: obedient to a fault and thoughtful only to where others have gone before them. They'd gladly follow each other down a path to their own meaningless and tired end because it's sanctioned by their peers. They'd go to old places down these half-filth half-broken roads. They fill every space with themselves because they are afraid of the unknown. The unknown is not them and is unwelcome. The unknown is alien and scary. Gods forbid these ignorant sheep-rabbits think for themselves.

Gornd spat in the alleyway, a vain gesture that would go forever unnoticed save unto us. It was dark now. It was also nearly 21:28, the time that James had arranged for them to meet. They had arranged this meeting through a series of notes left in other prearranged and consistently changing areas. The first of these read simply the substance at cost and the location of the place to leave a reply. It wasn't cheap, but it wasn't that expensive either. The reply location was a block and a half away from the first between the panels of a faulty street lamp. Gornd had to present a realistic set of expectations if he wanted to hook a catch. Much to his surprise, and much to his disappointment, the note leaving process was quick, efficient, and devoid of any sense of curiosity. The entire process was resolved in less than forty-eight standard hours with minimal questions. He concluded that this probably wasn't the first time James had purchased narcotics. How he wished he could have been his first. Alas, it was done and so James was doomed.

Traffic was still heavy and getting heavier the longer he stood there. The Manufactorums must have been releasing their slaves for the night. It was if on cue that James appeared out of the dense crowd, a look of recognition on his weary features, the first of which he noticed was his angular and cat like jaw. His eyes were sharp and cold, yet sunken and soft. The way he walked spoke of an easy going confidence he was not accustomed to seeing outside of the Imperium. This, along with the look of knowing, was another surprise to Gornd. They had never been introduced, and he was far more _there_ than many of the psykers he had met previous... and by far easier on the eyes.

He did not like that he was known to this man, though he knew quite a bit about James from his task briefing. He thought momentarily of responding to this potential danger, and released such notions almost as quickly. The guy was supposedly an aloof psyker, and not a weak one. Gornd did not think he was likely to know himself so well, however, and probably thought it was just intuition and experience that allowed James to identify him as his seller. It unnerved Gornd nonetheless.

The unwitting psyker stood relaxed at arms distance from Gornd and fixed his attention on the passerby's.

James spoke "Nice weather."

Gornd replied with a formal grunt and there was a moments silence between them. Then, without warning, there was more silence. James absentmindedly scratched the bridge of his nose. Gornd adjusted the trench coat on his shoulders in an attempt to make the silence more comfortable. He was just waiting for the phrase. After that, the plan can really kick off.

"Never seems weird to you, huh?" James said

Gornd was not one for idle chat, for which he mistook his question. "The fucking weather, man?", Gond sneered, "No." Gornd was not quite familiar with the weather of this planet, so he really wasn't one to judge and he knew it. He needed to act to the part of a local with an illegal side hustle.

James half shrugged and replied with a noncommittal "Meh.", followed with their agreed upon exchange phrase. "Red Major, five large". The exchange phrase was symbolic to nothing and meant nothing to anyone who would have heard it except to James and to Gornd.

Gornd reached into his trench coat and pulled out the package containing the poison, the paraphernalia, the tangled mess of the relic-vox, and glass-metal brick attached to it.

James responded in kind with about three weeks worth of pay for the materials without so much as a moment of hesitation and in a smooth and practiced fashion to boot.

Gornd really hoped these were the good drugs: if this guy was a real junkie, they would need to be if he hoped to woo James over with a religious experience. He might have been numb to it otherwise.

"See you next time then." James half smiled, eyes alight with an ambiguous anticipation.

Gornd half shook his head in response. If this guy assumed this would turn out to be a long term connection, he couldn't have been more mistaken. Soon, they would both be in a place Gornd called home, or considered familiar enough to be home. No more alleyways. No more notes. No more handsome half smiles. James was in for a career change.

"Yeah, whatever man." Gornd mumbled through a semi-scowl and turned his head away from him as if to regain some small loss of composure. He couldn't shake the feeling that this exchange was wrong somehow and that he was unprepared for it.

James uttered a soft-spoken "Thanks", nearly disappeared into the now thinning crowd, and strode out of the alley.

The semi-young heretic knew he had to give the target close to a twenty minute head start: enough time to get home and comfortable enough to inhale the vaporous poison. After that, it would be door kicking time. Donning a mask of his Lord and a short recital of an ancient cant would take care of the illusory visage and transport home. Shortly thereafter, James would be chained and there would be an invocation: a deal of souls.

Gornd reached into his trench coat once more and pulled out a cheap industrial grade cigarette and put it up to his lips. He had no way of lighting it. He certainly didn't smoke, (he never had time enough to develop the habit) but he still had a part to play. Actors need to play their part.

He didn't like the exchange. It was wrong somehow. It was like James had rehearsed for this. He seemed all too comfortable, all too familiar, all too… _there_. There were no mistakes about the exchange, everything was too perfect. The more he thought about it, the antsier it made him.

On a whim, he decided to take some time to familiarize himself with this alien world's weather patterns. The formerly overcast sky had cleared and the night sky was visible. The sight was one to remember.

It was 21:46 and the curfew was nearing. The alley was nearly vacant and almost silent save for the sparse echoes of hurried footsteps. The street lamps were dimming and the view of other worlds was clear. The stars were visible and served as colorful accents to the three moons reigning dominant in the night sky. Moments like these are what he lived for and made his hair stand on end.

He had to move now, lingering any longer would not be good for his health. Curfew was nearly here. Patrols would double soon.

Gornd tossed the unused cigarette into the street like the trash that it was. He had a bad feeling about this. His heart pounded, his hands shook, and his breathe labored. It was exhilarating. His pace was quick and his strides were long. He wound through the laberynthian alleyways. These roads may have been tired and overused, but to Gornd they were new and unexplored and full of potential danger around every turn.

As he progressed towards his victim's abode, the night sky became slowly and progressively brighter to him and the air became stiller and colder. It lit his way forward and he couldn't shake the feeling that he strode through an ethereal haze. The grimy walls of these old concrete buildings blossomed with colors they were not meant to have. The broken cobblestones along his path bloomed with a silently ominous radiance that beckoned him ever forward. Something was going to happen; this world shouldn't have been so vivid and full of color. He needed to hurry.

And so he did. He kept to his path and fought the urge to shudder at every new sight of tired old things lit by night and given new meanings: meanings that seemed to be meant only for him.

He stole himself into the sanctuary of a shady alcove. There was a five man patrol along his route, a slow moving semi-ignorant obstacle. They were an unwelcome interruption to this magical atmosphere, but added to the tension that had been building within this heretic. Remaining quiet and motionless was difficult for him. It was as if the passage of time had become increasingly slower to him. He saw more and knew had become somewhat impatient. He felt that he would not reach his destination before curfew, and the one patrol he encountered would multiply itself to the point where all roads would become impassable.

He waited for them to pass. He needed no further delays and he was nearly bursting with the need to reach his prize. He pressed onward. The night reverted to its unnatural appearance once more. Gornd's ears throbbed with what he thought was his own pulse, though he was suspicious that the pulse belonged more to the night itself. He felt watched. He felt he was being guided. He felt as if the world around him held its own twisted form of semi-sentience and that it had its own plans for him. If he had lost the will to execute the mission, then the supernatural… _something_ of this night that guided him would carry him through these roads like a misbehaving child being escorted home.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour of traversal, he reached his destination. The apartment super-complex was tall, rundown, and lined with winding staircases, but the patrols would be absent here. Also absent here, were the magic lights of the night sky. Somehow, it was colder in the building than it was outside and the air tasted oppressively heavy. The tenement was normally a straightforward complex of alpha-numeric organization that suffered from centuries of neglect. Tonight, it was a dungeon of twisted hallways that led to the borderlands of the uncanny. It was the end of the line for all of reason.

Up he went. To the thirteenth floor in the southern wing, to M1507 Gornd did climb. Exhausted and enthralled with anticipation, he glanced around for potential witnesses. He saw only his breath in the dimly lit and silent hallways. A second glance around him revealed a neglected and barely functional clock. He was shocked to find that only nine minutes had passed since his encounter with James. The time was 21:55.

Gornd wiped the cold sweat from his brow and took a minute to gain control his breathing. Composure somewhat restored, he reached into his trench coat one final time and retrieved the mask and the unholy litany. He raised his foot and let loose a mighty kick to the flimsy door. It gave with less than no resistance and half swung half recoiled open with a sad stuttering creak.

He quickly stepped inside, donned the mask, and began reciting the forbidden scripture. Then he stopped. James had awaited him. The apartment was chilling, smoky (or was that his own breathe?), and blindingly brilliant.

James stood eyes half lidded and filled with a saddened kindness. He was a beautiful and radiant sight and the only recognizable object in the entry room. The floor, the walls, and the decorations that adorned them were frosted over and little more than obscure, vaguely coherent shapes. The furniture, the light fixtures, and all else behind him were simply not visible. The ancient vox mechanism straddled his head and covered his ears; his movements were unnaturally fluid. He stepped forward with an awkward grace and spoke the last words Gornd would ever hear in this world.

"Are you ready this time?" he mumbled, though his voice reverberated clearly and audibly through the room, the drug-dullness doing nothing to hinder his attractively confident half smile.

Gornd let the mask slip from his grasp and drop to the floor.

Before Gornd could formulate and verbally convey the flurry of incomprehension that filled his mind, the super-complex and its neighboring structures were consumed in a vortex of semi-corporeal waves of all-color flames. The terrible event killed thousands; many more simply went missing, and more so went mad and could not be considered reliable witnesses. Among the bodies never recovered from the wreckage and ruins, were those of James R. Hartwright and the heretic Gornd.


	2. Chapter 2

All things were and are permissible in the Warp, as suggestive to its name. It is up to the beings within it to manipulate and rationalize its properties and existence in accordance to their will and beliefs. Acceptance of state and circumstances can both limit and expand the extent of the beings within it to exist and will ultimately lead to either their downfall or their triumph. Submission to anything but one's self implies a lack of will and an acceptance of one's fate. This spells the doom of all who carry predetermined expectations and self doubt. In the realm of the infinite, postulate and paradox is king. This applies to all beings in the Warp, though it is especially true for Materials. In order to remain free, one must will his or her own freedom into existence. It was about belief over observation. These are concepts that took James an immeasurable amount of time to understand. He understood these things very well, though he couldn't always articulate them properly.

James pondered these things as he set down the pipe and let loose a shaky exhale. He could feel his mind going through its usual twisting as the drugs began to take effect. The shifting multicolor patterns swam and teased the edges of his vision and a goofy satisfied grin stretched across his face. He felt his cheeks flush and his toes go numb. James fitted the prehistoric headphones over his pleasurably throbbing skull, fiddled with the glass-steel device, and set upon himself a world devoid of all things but the sweet synthetic symphony flowing through his ears. It was a soft melody, always his favorite way to begin the journey. He hadn't heard this one before and he could never get any one song to play more than once, but he enjoyed these experiences thoroughly.

He wondered what he would discover this time. Would he visit the Jester again? Probably not. The great clown was always welcoming to him but not always of other visitors. James appreciated the guy's complex (and sometimes downright nonsensical) sense of humor and he was quite helpful at times, but James was in the mood to explore tonight. More so, he desired a traveling companion. Gornd was the prize he had set himself upon, though the heretic would first need to survive the jump from real-space.

It wasn't really the jump that killed him; it was everything else after that. It was always the same messy conclusion: the heretic would question him, become unable to accept the circumstances at hand, start to panic, and his head would explode. James supposed that he would have to comfort the man in some way to prevent such things from occurring again. The conundrum confounded James many a time. The poor dude, caught in a never ending chaotic vortex of mind-blowing proportion that he was just unable to accept. Of course, James did what he could to try and keep the brain splatter event from recurring, but with limited results each time it did. The results being a brain fountain of course. It wasn't as if James could just will him to be calm, Gornd had to come to terms with these events by himself just as James had. He couldn't stop himself from trying to help the poor man, but there was little he could do on his own for him. He had forgotten how long this loop had been cycling and the events of its origin were lost on him. He just knew that it was and that it always would be. There must be some way to alter the loop.

A thought struck James with such force as to give him chills (it certainly did). James arose from his favorite spot on his weathered and well loved couch with a smile and a plan. He oriented himself in a melodramatic and fluid motion, balancing himself on the balls of his feet and gently swaying to the beat of his music. It had changed tracks by now and now settled into a fast paced bass-ridden beat-fest. Gornd was fast approaching and time was beginning to fall apart in this world. He strode to the kitchen with the grace of a newborn giraffe, swung wide the door to the refrigerator, and plucked the last two bottles of ale from the top shelf. He left the door ajar. Closing it wouldn't matter very soon. He set the ales on the coffee table and besat them with coasters. Gornd and James were going to have a little chat.

The table set, James made his way to the front door, turned the knob, and pulled it open just enough to prevent it from latching closed. The last time he forgot to do this, Gornd ended up spending a full two minutes trying to remove his boot from the center of the door. James wanted to at least provide him with a sense of dignity upon entry. He also knew how painful those splinters could be and couldn't bring himself to laugh at the silliness of it all again (though he smirked, remembering the times previous).

James swiveled on his heels and nearly lost his balance, but recovered with a giggle and what grace he could manage to find. The drugs had set in again and his vision swam with color and he felt comfortably lightheaded.

The track had changed again. James allowed himself to fall into the rhythm of the otherworldly prelude and drift on the currents of the Now. He was in tune with the music and strove to match his movements with its fluidity. Time became irrelevant once more. It was an unnecessary rationalization for which James had no need of. Measurements and records were properties of no things, they were simply ideas thrust upon them by their observers in attempt to make sense of them. Mortal beings had a tendency to interpret logic and reason as concrete and infallible concepts that are self evident and impregnable fortresses of Law.

To James, these notions were laughable.

All things change, especially finite perspectives. Such perspectives from sentient creatures are living proof of this concept: what sentient being has not lived and learned? Learning is the recognition of patterns through repetitive encounter, the way creatures adapt to constant change and thus allows such beings to adapt their environment to them. Laws are just cognitive gimmicks that imply stagnation on a massive scale. Nothing more than a label given to such recognizable patterns based on limited observation. Statements meant to hold true forever: time, gravity, and light to name a few. All of these things are only true some of the time. Laws simply do not exist outside of social structures. Adaptation is unto change as Laws are unto stagnation… most of the time. Variables are the only true constant. One can only utilize such rationalizations for so long and only accomplish so much with them.

A being cannot expect to simply move things around its environment and expect permanence. The world adapts, too. It must _always_ adapt to change. The environment will and must mimic its changer and adapt itself to the creature in a dance of mirrored mockery. Only then can a consistent forward moving pattern be established: a symphony of growth and change. James found beauty in such paradox.

Suggestion then! It was that which would save his friend to be. If _will_ would not work, then a metaphorical trail of breadcrumbs would set him down the path of postulative attitude. Yes, they would be such close companions soon.

He envisioned the world beyond his patterned kaleidoscopic vision. He closed his eyes and was greeted with a vision of the night sky from the eyes of his soon to be guest; t'was a glorious sight to see, but there was work to be done. He sensed Gornd's usual anxiety and guided him through the alleyways, into the complex, and up the staircases. When Gornd was just behind the front door, James pulled away from the vision and opened his eyes. Once the mask dropped, the Event would trigger. There was no way to prevent it. James had no intention of doing so.

There was a great bang and the door swung wide. Gornd hesitated just past the threshold of the door. The same dumbfounded expression sat on his face. This never changed and it never failed to amuse James, despite such tragic implications. James was going to play it cool this time; super cool and super normal.

James took a calculated wobbly step forward. "Are you ready this time?"

Gornd moved his mouth as if to say something but was rudely interrupted as the super-complex all quaked violently and the other tenants decided that this was an excellent time to lose their marbles. Wall decorations clattered to the floor in pieces, the furniture jumped and knocked around fervently, the light fixtures toppled over and joined the furniture in seizure-dancing. Only the table remained untouched and pristine. The ales atop it unmoving and awaiting attention. The shaking stopped before the screams did, and even those faded after a few seconds. Poor bastards.

"What- who? That?" Gornd managed to say, more articulate than usual.

"To sit down with me and have a beer?" James replied in the same soft voice he'd used to greet him moments ago, "Couch work for you?" James adjusted the couch to a right side up position and patted the cushion adjacent to the spot he now chose to occupy.

"Are you-? What just-? NO! What did you do? How is-" Gornd was becoming increasingly flustered, again. Not a very reassuring sign of a stable mental condition. The atmosphere was adding to his confusion and fanning the flames of his insecurities. His suspicions, his anxieties, his doubts; all of these negative emotions were receiving a feedback loop only the madness of the Warp could provide. Though he certainly was faring better than the other poor souls down the hall that existed a few moments ago.

James decided that it was time for a more direct approach.

"What? You kick open a door, run head first into a magic walking glow-stick giving his house an epileptic seizure, and suddenly lose the capacity for holding intelligible conversation?" James laughed "Yeah, that sounds about right. Why don't you pop a squat and I'll help you remedy that." James grabbed both bottles of ale, flicked the caps off onto the floor with the rest of the mess, kicked his feet up on the coffee table, and offered up the bottle once more.

Gornd had a gut feeling that walking away from this madness was easier said than done and he just couldn't find his big boy words at the moment so popping a squat and having a beer sounded to him like a perfectly reasonable alternative to facing the horror he imagined was behind him. James was being awfully hospitable considering the circumstances and gave off the vibe of being the one in control of the situation so Gornd complied without another attempted verbal response.

He waded his way through the slush and clutter towards the sofa and sat his bewildered and tired self down. James handed him the bottle of liquor and smiled. Still dumbfounded, Gornd shakily accepted.

"Cheers, dude" James clinked their bottles together and took a swig.

Gornd nearly dropped his ale/beer upon the sound of glass clapping but managed to make a recovery with minimum foam. With newfound grace, he managed a generous sip. It was delicious. Gornd made a conscious decision to focus on his ale/beer for the time being and allow the shiny golden stoner to reveal his exposition.

"So, I'm fairly certain you already have an idea what happened here, but I'll try and get rid of most of your doubts now." James removed the vox-phones and hung them around his neck. The room dimmed rather noticeably. He got up from the couch, righted one of the fallen lamps, tipped it to remove the broken glass, and flipped the switch. The lamp turned on and lit the room in a warm homely glow. James returned to his seat and continued, "I smoked that crazy ass space-weed you sold me and teleported my house to another dimension."

Gornd set the bottle on the table and squeezed the bridge of his nose. This guy was nuts. He had to be. Worse yet, his suspicions were true. He was in the Warp. He had never actually been in the Warp. He had planned on using it, of course, but only for a quick predetermined jump to another planet. Now he was just _in_ it, which was very different and a whole lot more dangerous. Here was the home of daemons. These native residents were not very receptive to intruders. He picked up the bottle again and started to chug it. He knew his own damnation.

"Don't worry, man, we have more in the fridge." James said, sipping out of his own bottle. After a moment of silence and a few more sips he set the half empty bottle down and turned smiling to Gornd who was half tipsy already. "So you got your head on straight yet? I want to hear your side of the story."

"N- ugh. No. I'm still-" Gornd gesticulated vaguely over himself with an open waving hand implying his entire being, "No. Not yet." He wasn't nearly comfortable enough to reveal his previous intentions. He felt a great level of guilt for it. James was way too nice to be trusted as sober as he was at the moment. Maybe another beer/ale would do it. Not right now.

"Cool, take your time. I get it. This shit is weird."

James was ecstatic. This was the most progress he'd had with Gornd thus far. No brain fountain! Huzza! He still needed to be careful, however, the likeliness of his head exploding still existed as long as he was here. Play it cool. Take it easy. Make things simple… or at least make it appear to be simple.

James knew from personal experience that it was difficult (difficult serving as a horrible understatement of a description) task for finite beings to comprehend the incomprehensible. Glimpsing the infinite invokes misunderstanding and madness on a massively overwhelming scale. The current environment was a suitable training ground for Gornd to learn the basics of survival in this place. The alcohol and patient atmosphere helped too. He couldn't mask the seriousness of this situation forever, but he had plenty of time.

They drank the rest of their alcoholic beverages in thoughtful silence. Gornd finished his bottle in two more swigs and set the bottle on the coffee table a little harder than he wanted to. The "k'think" of the empty bottle startled him a little, but he was feeling slightly less panicky. Gornd was in a slightly better mood. A mood that opened his mind to the events of tonight just a little bit was better than sheer confusion. James finished his soon after and picked up the empties and sighed "Alright, next round's on me."

James sat up, half-waddled half-swaggered to the kitchen and returned with two more bottles of ale. He flicked the caps onto the floor with the other two caps and handed one to Gornd. He accepted the bottle once more and anticipated the cheers coming this time. With a semi-heartfelt "clink", they drank.

James burped with gusto and spoke. "You getting there yet, dude?"

"Eh. Thinking." Gornd seemed a tad depressed (a very guilty drunk), and a bit of a lightweight with his booze.

"Okay. You want some exposition?"

"Sure. Go for it." Gornd was still coping. James wasn't surprised.

"Alright," James took another swig, "So this is what's going on, dude." He set the bottle on the coffee table and turned his body to Gornd. They made eye contact. James' eyes were bloodshot, baggy, and half lidded. Gornd wore a guilt ridden grimace which spoke of too many wrong life decisions for not enough right reasons. James filed the expression away in his mind for further addressing. "So you and I are stuck in a time loop that's been going on for longer than I can remember. When it resets, you and I go back two days before you sell me drugs. Whenever I smoke this stuff and put on these phones, you kick in my door, your head explodes, I teleport my house to another dimension, and I start traveling through the Infinite high out of my goddamned mind bumping to crazy ass music."

Gornd involuntarily spat out his beer/ale mid sip. _That_ was a very blunt and straightforward way of putting it. He lost interest in his own slew of issues; he wanted to hear more from this guy. This was immediately engaging and he had a strong feeling that his stories would be an insignificant cringeworthy stump amid the forest of unknown possibility that presented itself upon a silver platter to him. And what was that part about his head exploding?

"Fuck me, dude, you have my attention." Gornd was rather drunk, entertainingly distracted, and thoroughly intrigued. He sat down his bottle again and fixed his attention on the man before him.

James threw his head back and laughed loudly and heartily. He finished his beer with a goofy self-satisfied grin and retrieved another two bottles from the kitchen.

"You ready for this, dude?" It was story time, exploration could wait. James had found a listener and that was good enough for him. Better to walk before one could run. Soon enough he would take this would be assailant on the journey of his life.

"Go for it man"

And so James began his long and yet to be finished tales of madness and glory. Gornd sat enthralled and fixated upon this perfectly flawed man and his outlandish tales.


	3. Chapter 3

The Warp was not a very friendly place for Materials. It tore the unwary and wary alike to helpless bite-sized pieces. It (and its cheerful denizens) twisted and flayed everything that interacted with it into an unrecognizable incoherent bucket of fleshy chum-stew. Bon appétit. It was Chaos after all.

For being absolutely gone out of his mind, however, James was pretty OK in there his first time.

Immediately following the events of broken-door-brain-fountain-blinking-house, James vomited, stepped over the headless corpse lodged in his front door, and stumbled gracefully out of his home in a haze of color. He moved was as if he was walking on the bottom of a great sea. He saw the world as a swirling cascade of particles in a dance of awesome beauty. The otherworldly classical music accented the experience wonderfully and numbed him to the truly terrifying reality that surrounded him. Everything moved as conglomerates of bright tiny dots across many aimless paths. Things made sense because they just _were_. James just _was_. Things didn't need to make sense in order to happen. Reason and logic were just coping mechanisms in the face of the _Now_ and had no need to exist yet. James was not exactly in a state of mind to think about what was happening anyway, he was just here for the journey.

He was in the eye of vast nebulous storm and his super-complex was right in the middle of it. James was content to just stand amidst the floating rubble and enjoy the ride. This trip was better than he could have hoped for. Aside from the headache, loss of equilibrium, and the short bout of nausea, these drugs were great. James got lethargic quickly and passed out with a dumb smile on his face.

When James awoke next, he did so in his bed with a massive hangover. He fumbled through his morning routine with shaky hands and a cup of Joe. He only had forty minutes to himself in the morning before he needed to leave for work. He decided to forgo the shower to gather his thoughts on the night previous. He managed to spill more coffee than he actually sipped and stared into space for a while. The night before was a jumbled up foggy mess of image flashes he couldn't quite link together. He remembered a guy putting his leg through the door and his head exploding. He glanced at his front door and found nothing out of place. The door was intact and free of brain matter. He remembered walking out of a destroyed apartment and into another world. Another glance around him revealed nothing out of the ordinary and the sun was shining.

James found it easy to just chalk it up to a blackout and a trippy dream. He knew there may have been more to it than that, but for now, this was as much as he could say that happened. He left for work without another thought about it.

The rest of the day went smoothly and without incident. His hangover receded quickly. Nothing seemed to have changed. The next day, James picked up on the pattern. The feeling of déjà vu was pretty strong and he concluded there was a lot of data he was missing. He watched himself write and leave a note between the panels of a neglected street lamp along with a few more in a few other places. He felt like he had lost agency and was caught in an undertow of events he did not understand. It was as if his memories relived themselves through his body with or without his effort or consent. He didn't panic, he may have been caught in an undertow, but he could still breathe so things weren't all that bad. He was still him and he was still the one making the actions.

He watched himself trade a lot of money to the narcotics dealer again and noticed the striking similarities between him and the man that kicked in his front door not too long ago. James figured he'd talk to him later. When he got home, he kicked off his shoes and packed the drugs into the pipe. He played with the ancient vox-phones again and found that he picked up on using it effectively rather quickly and in an intuitive fashion. He let the music play and lit up again.

The drugs took effect; James ascended to a heightened awareness. He pocketed the music device and the door grew a right leg. James arose from his seat, sort of swam-sort of staggered to the front door, and opened it slowly. This guy did not seem to grasp the concept of knocking very well. As door opened, Gornd hopped forward a few times in an attempt to regain his balance and fell flat on his back with grunt and a gasp.

"Hey again" James casually greeted his floor-bound would be intruder, "What's going on dude?"

Gornd was desperate to reclaim the air that vacated his lungs upon impact with the stone floor but was unable to do so at the time. He instead demonstrated his ability to flail about like a fish in a deep fryer. Unfortunately for Gornd, he was out of time. The air would not be returning. The building shook, things broke, and the temporary tenants lost their minds before they lost themselves. James couldn't hear any evidence of the horror over the headphones, but he knew to lean back behind the door for a moment to shield himself from Gornd's last thoughts. The makeshift jelly screen rattled a little and that was the end of it.

James should have been disgusted, appalled, and utterly horrified from witnessing such events. He nodded to himself in acknowledgement of this and shrugged. He'd seen similar incidents of this, if not worse, at work. Accidents weren't pretty but they occurred rather frequently. James decided not to dwell on this too much and moved on.

He left his house again and into the open of the cloudy twilight. James wanted to learn the rules of this new world. There didn't seem to be any path that led out of this obscure swirly dreamscape. The super-complex was suspended as if by invisible strings in mid-air. Gravity seemed to work right now, so that was kind of reassuring. James was still breathing, so there must be air here. James chewed the scenery, nodding his head in rhythm to the slow melodic beat drifting though his fuzzy noggin as he yawned a few times. He took his sweet time strolling around the edges of the super structure.

James decided to focus on the sky above him and looked up. He was greeted a pretty view and with the rush of vertigo; he smiled. His knees bent and his back arched from a lack of proper bodily control. Gravity seemed to shift and his left leg rose forward in an odd attempt to correct his unstable posture. It worked. James had his head back; one leg raised straight forward, one foot grounded, and face contorted into one of the dumbest grins he may have ever conjured. He found himself giggling over his new silly yet functional posture like a drunk playing in a trick room. He liked this. It was a surreal and vivid experience. He found little difficulty accepting this new thing he had discovered.

He continued to stare, bent over backwards, down (up?) the face of the building he once occupied. He thought the face of this structure would be a pretty neat road to walk. He allowed himself to pivot slowly (and with less effort than he had expected) on his grounded foot and aligned himself to be looking down at the front of the complex.

It was a simple trick that came to mind. He recalled looking at a three dimensional holo-map of his workplace. It was a simple looking and semi translucent projection. He remembered when he first tried to rotate that map to orient himself with his building. When he rotated the map, his eyes completely and utterly betrayed him. The map seemingly inverted on itself and rotated in an opposite direction seamlessly and without flaw. This accomplished the reverse of orienting him and threw him off. When he stopped the rotation, the map stayed inverted and reflected. When James blinked, the map reset to its intended orientation. This was not a mechanical error, this had truly happened to him. He learned later that it was a trick of observation; both of these perspectives were true. It was simply a change of mindset that allowed him to see it one way or another. He had experienced the involuntary deception of knowing two coexisting opposite truths and found that he could accept them both.

Thus, with this recollection in mind, he allowed his grounded foot to be momentarily airborne and let himself drift down from the concrete ground to the brick wall that was the side of his building. His free left foot touched down and the feeling of vertigo intensified. James was held spellbound with this experience.

James strode across the face of the fat tower with newfound confidence. This dream was his and he wanted to explore more of it. The glass and brick road began to twist and extend forward as if anticipating his desire to travel. James began to walk in tempo of the new tune that arose from the mysterious relic in his pocket. This was an up-tempo and joyous melody, perfect for his current mood.

He followed the road into the clouds. The colorful tufts swirled and spun before him and blocked his view. The music began to intensify in its volume and complexity, and with it, the fluidity of his movements and the patterns that swam in his vision. He was losing himself to the coming of a great storm. His hands and head were moving to the rhythm of this song as if he were conducting a supernatural orchestra and the world around him stirred in response. He wanted some illusive form of greatness to play out before him. He sought a release of his newly attained energy.

The beat dropped and the world exploded in a nearly overwhelming display of color and beauty. He was lost unto it. His body moved on its own as if in translation to the grand feeling of freedom he now lived. He was the _Now._ His inhibitions and will of his own were surrendered to the demands of the language of the Gods that coursed through his skull.

Beautiful waves of color and light danced into existence upon his starlit road. Gone were the clouds of the storm. They were wisps of particles that wove themselves through his vision. This was the path of the New. The secrets of this world revealed themselves to him in all of their glory: a religious visage of grandeur.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-Back at the apartment-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Gornd sat enraptured, mouth agape at this tale.

"What happened then?" Gornd pried,"What did you learn?"

"Couldn't tell you," James half slurred into his nearly depleted bottle of ale "I don't remember much during that time. I guess I forgot."

Gornd needed a moment to process this response. He was having a grand old time, but just couldn't believe how nonchalant James was with such incredible excuses of reason. He attempted to drown his indignation and disbelief in even more liquor. This stuff was good and James seemed to have a bottomless pantry full of the stuff. He must have been on his ninth bottle by now. He attempt at drowning his inability to accept the flippant response did not work and Gornd, at last, found his words.

"You… Mother-fucking kidding me? The secrets of the univ-" Gornd needed to pause for a moment and set the now empty bottle on the coffee table only to pick it back up again to use as a clumsy pointer, "What do you mean you 'forgot'? How do you forget learning everything in the universe, you incomp- *BUUURP* fucking stoner?" Gornd was quite animated, accusatory, and engaging when he found his comfort zone… and alcohol threshold.

James lost himself in a drunken fit of uproarious laughter. His leg came up involuntarily and knocked the table. "AH HAHAHAHAHA" became "OW HOHOHOHO" and Gornd dropped his half serious façade along with his empty beer and joined him his own high pitched fit of giggling. They threw their heads back, slapped their own knees, and writhed in their own plastered amusement. They were having too much fun. They both missed having a drinking buddy to talk to.

After the giggling died down and they wiped away their tears, James continued the story.

"So after I came out of it, I had to sit down and chill for a minute."

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-Back to the story-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Upon the completion of the heavenly serenade, James found himself in a very different environment. He found himself in a dimly lit and monstrous room lined wall to ceiling with books, tomes, scrolls, carvings, and every manner of record and literature. All things in the room bespoke of an ancient artistic ambiguity: purpose _and_ aesthetic was king. Reason and form came together in a sacred joining of unfathomable scale. James, in his exhausted post-coitus like euphoria, really didn't care for any of it. He just wanted to sit down and relax for a minute. He looked behind him and found a bench staged in the near corner of the room and closed the space between him and the comfortable pew of assured salvation.

James turned, seated himself, and perceived the tall ominous shadow of a figure that stood before him. The figure possessed the visage of a merciless humor and the countenance of a mad jester. It tittered to itself as if his very presence was intrinsically entertaining to the great god clown. James sat before a big scary clown thing and searched himself for the proper articulation of a greeting. Mere moments later, he found it.

"Aaahhhhhhhhh… Hi there" James gawked, craning his neck and body to his right side as if to acquire a better grasp of the scale of this tall individual.

"He _llo_ , little man and _wel_ come to my _humble_ lib _rary_ " The Jester enunciated in an odd manner, "Do you _know_ why _you_ have come?"

"Nope", James answered honestly though still unsure of what in the world was going on "I just started walking and kinda wound up here."

" _You_ walked, you say?" the clown-monster shook with an eerie supernatural laugh, "There _are_ no _roads_ to this place. The gates do not _open_. And, _yet_ , you are _here_ _in_ my _home_. _And_ you yet _live_! I _ask_ you little man, do you _know_ my _name_?"

"Not yet. My name's James, nice to meet you." He smiled, fixed his posture, and extended his right hand to properly introduce himself. The difference in stature was so vast that he may as well have raised his hand straight up in the air.

The godly merry-man threw his head back in an uproarious bloodcurdling fit of cackling. James raised his brows and somewhat retracted his hand in shock, though he kept it extended out of politeness. His eyes and smile widened. In spite of his fear and bewilderment, he laughed along not knowing what else to do.

The Clown knelt, lunged, and caught the extended hand gracefully and shook it whole heartedly and with great delicacy so as not to have broken the tiny man.

"James Hart _wright_! How _won_ derful it _is_ that we _can_ meet! My _name_ is Ce _go_ rach! _Come_ , we _must_ talk and discuss a _great_ _many_ things." Cegorach grinned a terrible grin; his eyes aflame with mischief and hidden knowledge. The God stood, swiveled, and made his way across the room with graceful agility. " _Come_ , you _simple_ little man, _come_!"

James (still quite lost and unsure of what else could be done) stood up, embraced the assault of lightheadedness, and adroitly toddled after him. The walk was good for him once his head cleared up enough for him to see where he was going. It got his blood pumping and his legs going. He wondered what the Jester would want to glean from him. With this great library, what information could James provide that wasn't already known to him? James found that he did not know if he could answer that question.

They trekked through the maze of forbidden knowledge and into a cozy enough looking lounge-study. Cegorach glided to a nearby table and gestured to a chair. There were two porcelain mugs of steaming coffee waiting for them. The smell was heavenly. James thanked him and sat himself down. He folded his hands around his coffee cup, brought it to his lips, sipped the godly liquid, and returned the cup to the table. James was grateful and smiled to his host. The world was still a swirling cluttered mass of beautiful particle waves in his eyes and James loved it.

Cegorach sat opposite from James at the table and spoke

" _Jaaames_ , it is _high_ _time_ that we should get _down_ to _business_ " the Chuckle God half sniggled, "Please _tell_ me, _what_ are _your_ mo _tives_ in this _world,_ and _what_ is it that _you_ _want_ from it?"

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-Back at the apartment again-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_ 

James was unfit to continue with story time and had begun to nod off. He was absolutely exhausted and needed his rest. He and Gornd had conversed for hours upon hours in the half ruined apartment complex and now it was passed James' bed time.

Gornd was on the verge of passing out as well and did so as he tried to set his half empty bottle on the coffee table. Gornd audibly conked out head first onto the table and onto the messy floor. The beer/ale tipped over and spilled onto the floor with the rest of the mess. James thought absentmindedly about how unfortunate it was to spill his last bottle of ale. James finally drifted off to sleep on his couch.

The loop was at an end and the events of the night wound back before the warp storm incident, before the illegal transaction, and before the two fate-bound men had ever interacted. James awoke in his bed with a killer hangover. He nursed his coffee and left for work.

Gornd watched in horror as his body moved against his will; his words against his thoughts. His feet moved by themselves and the world was a blur of things he'd already witnessed. He watched himself write and leave notes in many places. He watched himself spit in an alleyway in some forgotten transgression of disgust and throw away a cheap cancer stick. He watched himself climb stairs and kick a door.

The madness stopped at its climax. Things became new again, the world came into focus, and Gornd remembered the night previous in a whirl of color and exuberance.

"James!" Gornd shouted to his shiny golden drinking buddy and his only anchor of rational thought in this strange loop of insanity.

James smiled in response "I guess you're ready this time"

The apartment vanished into the warp once more and the two men introduced themselves properly with a handshake and a smile.


End file.
